


close these green eyes.

by Raycifer



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: (Not Graphic and Past), Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gavin and Michael are Trans, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Sex, Pre-Fake AH Crew, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:46:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10502919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raycifer/pseuds/Raycifer
Summary: there is a hole inside gavin’s chest that he can never seem to fill.he’s tried everything; getting blackout drunk on rooftops in the middle of the night, leaving bars with attractive strangers and leaving their dingy apartments at five in the morning, pills, cars, anything he could think of. it had done nothing but widen the hole, and now it was this gaping mass ripping through his lungs that was invisible to everyone else but him.





	

_more than anything_  
_i want to save you_  
_from myself_

_\- rupi kaur_

 

there is a hole inside gavin’s chest that he can never seem to fill.

he’s tried everything; getting blackout drunk on rooftops in the middle of the night, leaving bars with attractive strangers and leaving their dingy apartments at five in the morning, pills, cars, anything he could think of. it had done nothing but widen the hole, and now it was this gaping mass ripping through his lungs that was invisible to everyone else but him.

the thing with him, gavin supposes, is that he tried to force himself to do things he knew he wouldn’t like. he had never liked sex, never understood the supposed passion or thrill of it, but he would go around with anyone who smiled at him from across a darkly lit room. the alcohol was always cheap and burnt his throat and made him cry, and the pills were just shit, really. his binder was always too tight and his ribs were black and blue and yellow and he was choking to death in the heat of it all. it was his self-destruction, and it was far from beautiful. these were ugly shards of glass littering his bathroom floor, and there was nothing he could do to stop himself from shattering over and over and over again.

there was always a catalyst for these extended periods of agonising memories that he wanted to drown out. when he first left miserable england for even more miserable los santos, he was bad for weeks on end. he doesn’t quite remember how long it lasted, but he knows it was too long. he sorted himself out eventually, settled in and unpacked his tiny suitcase and made a living.

he begins as vav, a small-time hacker that gradually grows bigger among underground circles. every damn criminal seems to want him to work for their filthy cause, but gavin remains freelance. it’s the only control he has. there’s a certain thrill to his work that he never achieved on his worst nights, and he thinks there is some kind of twisted irony in that. he can work himself to the bone and feel something, but when he drinks he doesn’t feel anything but the coldness in his bones.

during the first three years, gavin lives in the same old shitty little apartment he rented as an eighteen-year-old kid who had run away from home. ‘home’ was said lightly – his only memories of that were far and few between, with raised voices and bruises and broken bottles. no. he has never had a home. but this apartment in a back alley in one of the worst cities in the state is as close to home as he has, so he’ll take it. theoretically, he could move out; hacking pays well, especially when you’re as well known as vav is. but he doesn’t want to chance another bad spree again.

he’s doing fine. he’s coping. there may be too many prescription pills on his kitchen counter and coffee mugs littering the breakfast bar and purple rings are imprinted underneath his eyes but he’s not getting bad again. he isn’t.

(he is.)

gavin goes to the shadiest bar he can find and he hates himself for it. he buys too many shots and sees a cute guy from across the room and loses the slither of self-control he possesses. the guy is nice, a little bit older than him and wealthy judging by the notes gavin sees in his wallet when he goes to pay for their drinks. he allows the guy to drive them to his nice apartment in the nicer side of the city, a penthouse with floor to ceiling windows and a plush carpet and fancy smelling shit. his bed is nice too. the sex, not so much, but not the worst he’s had.

he lies next to the guy in the bed for a few hours afterwards, listening to his quiet snores and staring blankly at the ceiling. he wants to feel something other than this terrifying numbness. he wants a life where he gets to wake up next to someone he actually loves rather than a one night stand who he’s about to walk out on.

there are two very clear rules gavin has set out for occasions like these: do not give them his number, and do not let them tell him their name.

he leaves at six in the morning and almost feels bad, before realising that he has a job at eleven and immediately switching to his professional mode. it’s easier for him to file all the sides of himself and push them to the side when he has a job to do. personal shit always gets in the way.

another year passes, and gavin has moved apartments twice. there have been one too many slip ups due to his own idiocy, and a nauseating anxiety has moved in with his thundering numbness.

at least he has a friend now. michael. mogar. demolition expert extraordinaire and resident creep puncher. gavin had been on a long streak of bad days when he had been cornered outside of a bar by a man demanding gavin to give him his wallet in a voice that sounded too much like the one in his nightmares. a moment before gavin falls apart, a flurry of curly brown hair and angry yelling appears from nowhere, grabbing the guy in a headlock and beating him to shit.

gavin gains a split lip and a best friend from new jersey all in the same evening. and he didn’t even have to bang michael to get him to stay. score.

michael confides in gavin a lot, and he does too. they learn that they can only trust one another in this city full of hatred. michael tells him about the blistering rage which reverberates from his head to his toes, in every atom of his being, and gavin tells him about the numbness which squeezes his chest until he can’t breathe. he tells gavin about how the fire helps him rein the fury in, rubbing his scarred knuckles, and gavin tells him how he only feels okay when he has a mask on. gavin tells michael about his childhood, or lack thereof, and shows him the scars on his back, forgetting that he is wearing a binder. michael laughs and lifts his shirt to reveal his own binder. they smile at each other. it’s not perfect, this fragile friendship built on mario kart and soda, but it’s theirs.

two years later, and their little crew has expanded to fit another friend and a cat. michael meets lindsay ten months after he saved gavin, and they become close so quickly it makes gavin dizzy. lindsay, ruby rose, has this glow about her, a hopeful energy that is infectious to everyone but him. she still wraps him around her pinky though, just as she does to michael, and she fits right in. there are nights where she wakes up screaming, and at the beginning both of them would rush to her side. michael and lindsay start dating two months later and gavin stays in his bed when he hears her yell in the middle of the night.

it wasn’t like gavin was completely alone. he dated a girl he met in a club on a good night for a few months, and it had been good. she had fireworks in her eyes and constantly changing hair and gavin had liked that fluidity. her ability to change. he buys a cat and she hates the thing, but she deals with it because, for whatever reason, she likes gavin. and gavin is happy and his head is quiet and the numbness isn’t as deafening. that doesn’t last though.

their relationship ends after five months, and it’s no one’s fault but his. he becomes distant, stops answering her texts and calls, and she gets tired of it. they’re still friends, she tells him. she cares about him. she just doesn’t want this… nothingness.

so gavin has his cat and his two friends. he’s okay with that. he isn’t getting bad again.

(he is.)

gavin doesn’t go to a bar this time. he doesn’t go out drinking or stand on the edge of a skyscraper or anything like that. he doesn’t leave his bed. sleep is a blessing, and he abuses it until he can’t sleep anymore. then, he stares at the ceiling until he blacks out.

michael and lindsay start getting worried after two days, and they get outright frantic after four days when gavin retreats to the bathroom and refuses to open the door. he just wants it to be quiet. a half empty whisky bottle lies next to him and his phone lies smashed across the tiles next to the bath tub. michael is pounding his fists against the door now, and lindsay is attempting to coax him out, but everything is fuzzy.

a sudden realisation strikes him. he is hurting the people he loves. who love him. he is never going to get better and he knows this, but his two friends don’t. they have no clue what is wrong with him. they don’t know that he is broken beyond repair.

they leave after a while, and gavin hears michael yell in frustration and muffle a sob. he stays in the bathroom until they retreat to their room, and he unlocks the door. he presses his forehead against his knees for a second, his hands gripping his legs, and then pushes himself off the floor. he leaves the bottle and his phone, and he walks out of the apartment in a daze.

he isn’t sure how he gets to the bar, but he does, and it’s a fairly decent one so he goes inside. he realises that he forgot to put on his jacket before he left and he is freezing. the bar is warm and crowded, bustling bodies and spilt alcohol and he, with his tired eyes and dark circles and messy hair, sticks out like a sore thumb. he grabs a seat by the bar and orders the first drink he sees on the menu. when it arrives, he stirs it idly and doesn’t drink it.

everyone here has someone. this probably isn’t a place you go on your own, which might be why the barkeeper looked at him oddly. that, or he wants to have sex with him. could be either one, really.

gavin is alone. he has no one.

some guy sits next to him and orders a drink, and gavin turns his head to get a better look at him. he has obnoxiously green hair and kind eyes with dark circles that rival his underneath. he catches gavin’s gaze and smiles. gavin looks back at the menu.

the guy gets his drink and exhales slowly, drawing gavin’s attention back to him. “so, what’s your name?”

“what?”

“your name. since you were looking at me.”

gavin flushes involuntarily, and the guy’s smile widens.

“i don’t like names. they’re stupid.” he says, taking a sip of his drink.

“well, i’ll start,” he holds out a hand for gavin to shake. “i’m jeremy.”

gavin stares blankly at jeremy’s outstretched hand and moves his gaze back up to his face. jeremy lowers his hand, rolling his eyes.

“you’re english, right? you know you’re like, a walking stereotype.”

“and you’re a kid with dumb hair who approached a stranger in a bar,” he deadpans, a slight lilt to his words.

jeremy looks him over for a moment, before snorting with laughter. “touché, bitch.”

they talk for what seems like forever, about anything and everything they can find. gavin laughs, and jeremy’s smile makes him forget his numbness for a bit. it doesn’t last though, and jeremy looks at his phone and jumps up, pulling his coat on.

“i’m sorry, i have to go, it’s super late.” he shows the time to gavin and he’s right. 23:56.

gavin shrugs and offers him a tiny smile. “it’s cool. i’ll see you around, yeah?”

a look of nervousness passes over jeremy's face, and he hesitates for a second. “give me your hand.” he says, pulling out a pen from his coat pocket.

“wait – what are you doing?”

his hand is warm as he holds gavin’s left hand still, scribbling numbers in biro. he looks them over quickly and nods, before shooting a grin at gavin.

“you better not leave me hanging.”

with that, he’s out of the door and gavin sits there staring at jeremy’s number which has been scrawled on his hand. what a whirlwind.

gavin knows his rules. do not give them his number, and do not let them tell him their name. he’s already broken one rule. why not another?

he feels okay as he walks home in the chilly breeze, before breaking out of his fog and remembering that he broke his phone. he threw a phone against the wall and drank half a bottle of whisky and left the apartment without telling anyone.

michael was going to fucking kill him.

a few weeks pass and gavin still hasn’t texted jeremy. he feels bad about it, but not as bad as he feels about worrying michael and lindsay to death. they didn’t kill him, not really; there was yelling and a few angry tears and a very tight hug but they said they understood. just don’t do it again. since then, they had been hovering over him like mother hens, but he didn’t mind. it was nice, having people who care about him.

the piece of paper with jeremy’s number sleeps on his bedside table, and a month afterwards he decides to give it a shot. he buys a new phone and boots it up, procrastinating by finding cool wallpapers and adding his contacts. jeremy’s number is the last one he enters, and he does so with shaking fingers.

he types out a greeting and looks at it, then deletes it. he does this again and again until his eyes begin to blur and phone number two is about to meet its grisly end against a wall. michael swoops in before that happens though, dodging gavin’s feeble attempts to grab his phone and ignoring his threats.

“what’s this, boi?” michael asks, holding the phone out of gavin’s reach and showing the screen to him. gavin deflates against his friend and michael instantly softens. he puts the phone down on gavin’s bedside table and sits him down on the bed, sitting next to him and looking at him expectedly.

“he’s just this dude I met a few weeks ago. it’s nothing, really, i just completely disappeared on him and, um – "

michael holds up a finger to stop his rambles, and takes a deep breath. “wait, is this from that really bad night you had?” gavin nods. michael shakes his head at him and lets a dark chuckle escape his mouth. “you’re a real piece of work, gavin.”

he stands up and grabs gavin’s phone from the table, pausing for a moment before chucking it at gavin. he lets out a squawk as he falls backwards, and he hears michael laugh properly this time.

“text the fucking dude, man. and eat dinner with me and lindsay later.”

he leaves gavin alone with the stark white background of his text glaring at him, and he decides _screw it._ he types out a ‘hey, this is gavin!’ and an apology, and sends it. he stares at the screen for a minute, and then lets it fall to his side as he stares at the ceiling. worry echoes through his mind and he thinks about if he should delete the message or just completely destroy his phone. maybe move to canada, change his name, all because a damn boy wouldn’t text him back.

a ping from next to him snaps him out of his thoughts and he rolls onto his stomach and picks his phone up. jeremy.

the text is short and to the point, but it’s open ended and fills gavin with hope. he pushes it to the pit of his stomach and asks him if he wants to get a drink sometime. jeremy replies two minutes later with a yes. gavin wiggles around to grin at the ceiling and holds the phone to his chest.

they date for three months before gavin starts spiralling again. what they have is incredible, and gavin feels dizzy from how much he likes this green haired man who waltzed into his life and refused to leave. he doesn’t know about how bad gavin can get though, and he doesn’t want jeremy to find out. they’ve shared plenty of ugly secrets, but this bogeyman hunts gavin and he can’t burden anyone with it.

that doesn’t stop it from creeping up on him and he gets bad again, which becomes apparent to jeremy when gavin snaps at him for accidentally knocking a glass off the counter and smashing it against the floor. gavin jumps and recoils away, and jeremy instantly looks concerned, opening his mouth to ask if he’s okay and to pity him. gavin strikes before he can say anything, venomous words that he doesn’t really mean hanging in the air, and it is jeremy’s turn to recoil. he recovers faster than gavin, and spits his own venom at him, walking out of the kitchen into the living room.

gavin pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. he glances at the broken glass and kneels to clean it up, and cuts himself on the first piece he picks up. it stings, but he throws it in the bin and keeps picking shards of glass up. he doesn’t realise that he’s crying until he hears jeremy’s soft voice next to him, and turns around to look at his boyfriend through tear filled eyes.

jeremy’s eyes widen with shock, and he gently holds gavin’s elbow to help him up. he leads him to the couch in the living room and sits him down, murmuring that he’ll be right back and vanishing again. gavin chokes back a sob as he looks at his hands and sees the cuts that litter his significantly paler than usual skin. he’s so stupid, so stupid, and now jeremy’s going to leave him because everyone leaves him and there’s no point in trying anymore.

the floorboard creaks and the couch sinks as jeremy sits next to gavin with a miniature first aid kit, one leg hanging off the edge and the other resting on the couch. he pulls gavin towards him and he goes easily, allowing jeremy to clean his cuts and cover then with plasters. quiet hums fill the air as he works, and when he’s done he holds onto gavin’s hands for a second.

gavin looks up at him, green eyes full of fear, and something in jeremy melts.

they readjust themselves so that gavin’s head rests on jeremy’s leg, and jeremy’s fingers are in gavin’s hair, and it’s so peaceful gavin could cry. so, he does.

“d’you wanna talk about it?” jeremy asks, breaking the fragile silence.

gavin’s breath hitches and he closes his eyes briefly. he looks up at this wonderful man through his eyelashes, and sees nothing but genuine love and concern. he nods. “i… i don’t know what’s wrong with me really, i’m sorry, i am, just – god.”

“hey, it’s okay,” jeremy says softly, “you don’t have anything to be sorry about. i care about you and i want you to be – shit, are you okay?”

tears are falling down gavin’s cheeks like miniature rivers as he sniffs and tries to wipe them away with his sleeve, pushing himself up and turning around so that he faces jeremy. he’s still crying, and now he’s getting frustrated and it’s obvious apparently because jeremy lifts a hand to gavin’s cheek to brush away his tears.

he covers his hand over jeremy’s and leans into it, the safety, the security, and he knows he’s okay.

“i, um. sometimes i have these really bad days and uh, there isn’t anything i can do to stop them, y’know? just, bad memories will spring up and i get irritable and sad and i can’t leave my bed. you deserve better than me, i’m just,” he lifts his hand from jeremy’s to gesture at himself, “nothing.”

“i don’t think that’s true.” gavin squints his eyes at him, and jeremy shakes his head and links their fingers together. “seriously. just because you have bad days doesn’t make you unlovable. i have bad days too.”

“you don’t get it,” gavin’s voice rises and jeremy lifts an eyebrow at his tone shift. “i’m a bad person, jeremy, i am, i do terrible things and i hurt people and i can’t stop it. i can’t.”

“let me help you then.” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. it is, gavin supposes, and he’s taken aback.

“i think i love you, jeremy.”

jeremy smiles, big and bright. “i think i love you too. wanna move in?”

“yeah.”

gavin moves into jeremy’s apartment a week later, and michael, the melodramatic son of a bitch, clings to his leg as he attempts to carries the last of the boxes to the car. he pries michael off without the help of lindsay and jeremy, who are cackling in the corner and mocking them both, and gives him a proper hug goodbye. not an actual goodbye, really, now that they have a crew.

the fake ah crew.

ramsey and pattillo had found him, vav, the day after gavin’s breakdown, and after a few negotiations and tweaks, they were all on board. gavin was going to refuse their offer, but jeremy convinced him not to, and so gavin convinced ramsey to recruit him, lindsay and michael as well.

vav didn’t feel right for him anymore. not with all the memories of who he used to be. vav felt out-dated and distant now. he says this much to jeremy as they drive to their new apartment, and he laughs and tells him to check the glove compartment.

gavin pulls a pair of tacky gold sunglasses out, and takes one look at them before dissolving into howling laughter. he presses the back of his head against the seat and takes a few breaths to calm down. a few giggles escape his lips as he put them on, and these escalate as he flips the mirror down to look at himself.

“jeremy, i look – i look so stupid, jeremy!”

“i think you look great, buddy.” he looks at gavin for a second and pats his leg, before turning his attention back to the road. “y’know what might be a good name for you now that you’re ditching vav?”

“what?”

“the golden boy. gotta have a theme.”

gavin snorts and nods, glancing at the mirror again before flipping it closed.

* * *

 

it’s a year later, and gavin and jeremy are relaxing on the roof of their penthouse apartment, their legs dangling over the edge. jeremy’s head is on gavin’s shoulder, and he presses a kiss against his head and leans his head on his. the fake’s are infamous now, and they are at the top of the world. they are mortal gods in a dying city, and they love each other in the midst of their newfound chaos.

gavin still has bad days. he doesn’t go to seedy bars anymore or drink himself silly; instead, he’d hide in bed or cling to jeremy and he would let him. the numbness is still there, but it’s quieter, and he can feels invincible sometimes. this might be the happiest he has ever been. it's good.

the masks still litter his bathroom floor, but now it’s accompanied by gold eyeliner and loose bills. the golden boy is different to vav, different to gavin free, and that is the beauty of it all. his life is in the thrill of the chase, in blood and green screens and lil j’s sniper rifles. gavin’s is in the night sky, soft smiles and familiar green hair.

he still thinks that he is going to crash and burn one day, but this isn’t it. he isn’t going anywhere.

the night slips through his fingers and he finds that it is a little easier to breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really sure what this is? I wrote it during a big ol' breakdown and a lot of it is super personal as I projected onto Gavin. He's my suffer muppet. I haven't written in forever and I had to get my feelings out so I decided to beat up my son.  
> I'm working on another pre-fahc au, this time a freewood one and. Oh boy. You guys are going to love it. :D  
> The title is from Send Them Off! by Bastille.  
> Hope you all have a good day, and leave a kudos/comment if you liked this!


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